First Kiss
by PlasticTramp
Summary: Hermione decides to do some late night reading and Ron comes down to join her. Teenage fluff!


First Kiss

Hermione Granger stepped carefully around the strewn things of her dormitory mates. She took in a deep breath –– the messiness and clutter made her uncomfortable. Lavender and Parvati were some of the messiest girls she'd ever met. It was hard to sneak around if the possibility of tripping over something and things were crashing all around was more than likely to happen.

Lying in her bed was making her restless. When she looked up at the canopied bunk she occupied, the curtains around her bed made her feel enclosed, almost claustrophobic. It wasn't an endearing feeling for the bushy haired witch.

She decided she would go down to the common room and read something. She couldn't sleep and it was before midnight, so it wouldn't be too bad if she stayed up a little later. Reading relaxed her –– she'd fall asleep in no time.

The fire was beckoning her to sit close and feel its warmth. She wished, just for a brief second, that Harry and Ron were down here with her, teasing and joking while she chastised them to do their homework and stop talking rubbish about her hair. Maybe that was what she needed; some company.

She opened the thick book, a collection of fairy tales she admired since she was a little girl –– her mother would read them before she went to sleep, tucked into her bed in a princess style bedroom. She would never admit it to anyone but her parents and herself, but fairy tales excited her. Of course, she knew magic was real, but the stories gave her hope for a specific kind of magic, the kind that only the right boy could make her feel. She knew that these stories created a type of magic that couldn't be conjured with a love spell. No, this magic was . . . extraordinarily special.

Kissing frogs, forgotten glass slippers, poison apples . . . she reveled in the foreign world of true love and prince charmings. She smiled, laughed, and even teared up a bit as she read these stories, wishing a certain boy would show her the same kinds of affection.

But he was oblivious to her, and Lavender wasn't helping at all, since every time she tried to talk to Ron she was in the way, or they would be snogging.

She couldn't help but be so angry at him for neglecting her feelings.

"Hermione, what are you doing up so late?"

She turned around and saw Ron standing there, dressed modestly in a gray sweatshirt and striped pajama bottoms. His hair was a disarray, and Hermione's fingers tingled. She wanted to run her fingers through his messy red hair, feel him against her body . . .

She looked at Ron, pursing her lips, shoving the erotic image of them both out of the way. "Well, I could ask you the same thing," she muttered, wondering why he was down here at such a late hour.

"I couldn't sleep," he said. She could see the evident fatigue in his face and nodded.

"Same for me," she said. He walked closer to her, sitting on the other end of the sofa. Hermione curled her legs underneath her, dog-earing the page she'd stopped reading.

"What are you reading?"

Hermione became flustered. Ron would tease her if he knew the book that retained her attention. "Nothing important," she murmured, but Ron snatched the book from her hold, reading the cover.

Ron raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Fairy tales, Hermione? What are you, eight?" he said, a goofy grin spreading his lips. Teasing came so naturally for him, especially since it was normal for him to tease and be teased by his five older brothers.

Hermione scoffed and grabbed her book, holding it against her chest. She looked away from him, over to the fire, hating that he was so insensitive. A wicked blush flushed her face.

"You don't believe in stuff like that, do you?" Ron asked, incredulous. "It's rubbish."

Hermione stared into his eyes. "What? That someday a boy might actually like me?" She snapped, looking away from his face.

"No, Hermione –– I didn't mean that," Ron said, his ears turned bright red, and he frowned. "I––"

She nodded. "Of course you didn't, Ron, just like all of the other insults you throw at me." She began to stand up, but Ron took her hand.

"Hermione, please?" Ron said, taking in a deep breath.

She shook her head. "Ronald, I'm not like Harry. I'm not a boy you can tease without hurting my feelings. I'm a girl, if you haven't noticed. And I believe in things like love." She pursed her lips, releasing a deep breath through her nose.

Ron swallowed thickly. "Love?" his blue eyes searched for hers, but Hermione was far away, lost in thoughts.

"Yes, Ron. That feeling you get, the nervous anxiety that overwhelms you, the warmness that runs through your veins when you see her. The moment you realize she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, that you would do anything for her . . . love." Hermione shrugged, flashing Ron a simple half smile.

Ron cleared his throat. Six years he'd been friends with Hermione Granger, and not once did he think that all of those feelings equaled love. Hermione was a gorgeous girl, having grown into her figure and learning to tame her hair. But never did he think that he would love her. He knew he liked her. And even though Lavender was his girlfriend currently, she was still on his mind all of the time.

Besides, Hermione was just his friend.

"Haven't you ever had that feeling for someone, Ron?" she asked him. He noticed how her eyes widened with curiosity as she looked at him intently. He knew that look, saw that look whenever she was going to learn something.

"Yeah," he admitted hesitantly. "But she'd never go for a bloke like me," Ron said.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Why do you think that?" she asked him, sad all of a sudden.

"I don't know. There are tons of other blokes she seems interested in, better suited for her, I suppose." Ron shrugged, leaning against the back of the sofa. He looked at Hermione, her eyes downcast.

Hermione smiled as she met his intense gaze. "Well she's obviously blind. You're a great person, Ron. She'd be lucky that you like her." Hermione paused. "If you weren't with Lavender, I mean. Otherwise, that would be a sticky situation." She grinned.

Ron felt stupid that he was talking to Hermione about Hermione. She was oblivious considering he was talking about her. She was still worried about him being Lavender and that wasn't exactly the point.

"Who is it, Ron?" She asked. "Maybe I could talk to her for you?" She offered. Hermione was confused when he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it; it's hopeless, Hermione," he said.

Hermione was frustrated with Ron. He was her best friend, and couldn't tell her the girl he was interested in.

She smiled as an idea formed inside of her head. She'd just ask him questions and he would answer, and eventually she would have it narrowed down to the one girl Ron was secretly crushing on. She wasn't important. She could settle for being Ron's sister-like best friend. If Ron was happy, then everything would work out.

"Is she in our year?" she asked, setting down her book in her lap. She uncurled her legs from underneath her, laying them on Ron's lap.

Ron shrugged. "Yeah." Ron was transfixed with her toes, how her toenails were painted a very bright orange –– his favorite color.

"Is she in Gryffindor?" Hermione continued, thinking of every possible sixth year girl.

Ron nodded. She had each of the girls in her dormitory to think about, and there weren't a lot specifically, but if she asked the right questions, she would get her answer.

"What color is her hair?" she questioned, twirling her own bushy locks in between her fingers. She gazed at Ron intensely, watching him as he watched the fire crackle in the fire place. His profile was strong; his features handsome in the dim light, the blue of his eyes igniting like the fire.

"Brown," he answered simply, his voice raising goose bumps on her skin.

"And her eyes?"

Ron looked at her, into her eyes. "Also brown."

Hermione flipped her hair back from her shoulder, jealousy creeping up her spine. "Is it Parvati?"

Ron shook his head. Hermione thought hard as she went through each of the sixth year Gryffindor girls, none of them fitting Ron's description.

It left only one girl . . .

That would be stupid. Why would Ron have a conversation with Hermione about herself? Ron didn't feel that way about her. Hermione laughed to herself. No way. It was absolutely impossible. Barmy even.

But it gnawed at her insides, curiosity getting the best of her.

Ron could see the wheels turning in her head as she put the equation together. For being such a brilliant witch, she was ridiculously obtuse at times.

"Ron, that leaves only one other girl," Hermione said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

Ron smiled. "And who would that be?"

Hermione gulped, taking in a shallow breath between her parted lips. "Me."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Do you think she's still lucky?"

Hermione smiled and nodded. "She's very lucky."

Ron smiled at her, looking away.

"Hey," she said softly. On all fours, she crawled the length of the couch, closer to Ron until they were close enough to breathe each other's air. Ron's eyes caught hers and Hermione felt frozen in her place. "Are you nervous?" She asked him.

Ron shrugged. "Just nervous anxiety, I suppose," he said, returning the words she'd used to describe love.

"Warmth running through your veins?" she whispered.

He nodded, looking down at her lips, how they were pink from her biting them. They were parted, but only slightly, her breath flowing between them. He licked his own lips in anticipation.

"And I've realized she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he murmured, watching as the blush crossed her cheeks while she looked down to hide her face. "Ever."

"Really?" she whispered, embarrassed.

He placed his fingers underneath her chin and lifted her face so she could see her. Their eyes locked and Hermione sat on her legs, a little taller than he was sitting.

"Really."

"Ron, do you believe in love?" she asked him, placing her hand on his cheek, feeling the rough stubble from being left unshaven. She didn't mind –– in fact, she liked it.

Ron shrugged again. "I guess every time I look at you, I do."

Hermione giggled. "Oh, Ron," she mumbled through her tinkling laugh.

"What?"

"Nice use of words, I suppose. It's like something out of a fairy tale."

Ron flashed her a smile that melted all of the bones in her body. "You said you believed in them, right? Why not let me make you feel like the princess you deserve to be?"

She grinned. "I don't kiss slimy frogs, Ron," she teased him, watching as his hopeful expression changed into one of surprise.

"So now, I'm a frog? I was leaning more towards Prince Charming," Ron said with his hearty laugh.

She shook her head, raising her eyebrows. "Nope. You have to be kissed by a princess to be a prince. It's the rule."

Hermione laughed more as Ron's fingers rose to her sides, tickling her, making her laugh. They play-fought, Ron surrendering when she almost screamed for him to stop.

Hermione was working hard to catch her breath, her hand on her chest. "You know I despise being tickled, Ron," she said to him, her bossy tone seeping through.

Ron gazed at her, at the way her chest rose with each breath, the way her eyes looked frightened with the anticipation of his next attack, the way her lips glittered in the fiery light after she licked them. "You look gorgeous when you laugh."

Hermione was taken aback by his compliment. "Thank you," she murmured. "I should be going to bed now."

"Hermione?" Ron asked, watching as she stood and picked up her book.

She snapped her head around to look at him. "Yes?"

"Would you happen to know a princess who could kiss me into a prince?" He asked, a playful smile on his lips. She blushed, knowing the motive to his question.

"I think I might," she murmured. Ron stood up, towering over her tiny frame. She looked up into his blue eyes and blinked several times before she stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his. They stood there for several seconds, their lips pressed gently against one another's feeling the initial shock of it finally happening. Ron held Hermione by the waist, noticing how small she was, how delicate her body seemed to be. His big hands seemed to engulf her, like her lips did his.

Ron moved his lips, capturing hers between his. Hermione snaked her arms around his neck, letting him kiss her the way he did, letting him capture her mouth just as he captured her heart.

She could feel him smiling, and her heart danced and raced inside of her, banging against her chest. She pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes.

"You make a wonderful prince charming," she murmured.

Ron laughed, kissing her again. "So I'm no longer a frog, then?" he asked, his smile infectious.

"Nope. Hermione Granger doesn't date frogs, Ron."

"What does she go for then?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow. Their playful banter was confusing him.

"Funny, ginger-headed slackers with blue eyes and a dirty mouth."

Ron raised his eyebrow. "Dirty mouth? Hermione, I didn't know you were that kind of girl."

Hermione's jaw dropped and she smacked his shoulder, his sexual innuendo making her flustered.

"I was kidding, Mione," he murmured, tightening his grasp on her waist.

"Sure you were," she muttered.

He laughed and kissed her, happy that he could freely steal a kiss from the smartest witch of their generation. Not to mention the prettiest.

Hermione and Ron parted ways, finally deciding to go to bed.

Ron walked into his dormitory, bombarded with the snores of his roommates. But nothing mattered to him anymore. He had Hermione, and the nervous anxiety was nothing compared to the warmth that flooded his heart.

Now, to tell Lavender.


End file.
